


never mind that we're not touching now

by monsterbate



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Pride and Prejudice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pemberly Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterbate/pseuds/monsterbate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>never mind that we're not touching now<br/>because our shadows are holding hands<br/>      in the dark behind our backs</p>
            </blockquote>





	never mind that we're not touching now

**Author's Note:**

> Title / summary is from the poem 'Never Mind’ by Denver Butson. Also true is that episode 79 has rendered this useless! However, it still kind of fits? Just squint.

Lizzie makes it to the restaurant with nearly a quarter hour to spare; she spends it wiping her palms down her skirt and trying not to notice how flushed she looks in every window she passes. It’s the weather, clearly, and the exertion of climbing all those hills.

It has nothing, whatsoever, to do with the CEO of Pemberley Digital and his dark eyes and his stupid crooked little smiles. Nothing. Whatsoever.

Except that she can still see Gigi Darcy’s devious face, manipulating them all like puppets. And all over again, she can feel the rush of tension and terror and giddiness that had flooded the room the moment she’d found herself face to—well, chin—with William Darcy.

It had been two months. Two months of reliving every interaction with him and realizing that, perhaps, she’d been a bit…hasty, in her assessment of him. And then he nearly falls into her lap?

Dr. Gardiner comments on how San Francisco must be agreeing with Lizzie and maybe it is. But maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it, so she orders another glass of wine and changes the subject.

::

The next morning, Lizzie feels like she’s in one of those old National Geographic documentaries: she is the zebra and Darcy the lion. Not that she actually sees him—just that it feels like the hallway has eyes, and every corner is yet another chance to make a fool of herself.

So, without even stopping to drop her things off, she finds herself knocking on Gigi Darcy’s door.

“Come in?”

Gigi turns a rather obvious shade of pink when she sees Lizzie on the other side of the door. “Lizzie! I—hi. How’re you?” She busies herself with clearing off a chair and closing the door behind Lizzie, hands fluttering with nervous energy.

“As well as could be expected the morning after an _ambush_.”

Gigi sits forwards, elbows perched on her desk amidst a mess of pencils, starbursts, and scraps of paper, clearly pleased that Lizzie mentioned it first. “And how did it go?” 

“Oh, I’m sure you wrung your brother for every bit of information you could.” 

“Well,” she starts, glancing away. “I tried. But he seems to think that I’m going to…what did he say? ‘Alienate and discomfort one of the best minds to grace the halls of Pemberley Digital.’ So, I’m supposed to apologize to you.”

Lizzie narrows her eyes, studying the splayed grace of the manipulative mastermind that is Georgiana Darcy. “I’m not going to respond to—that. I do, however, appreciate the apology.”

Gigi nods, expression clouding over. “I didn’t—I just want you to get to know him. He’s not...he’s not the guy you think he is.”

Lizzie already knows this—rather viscerally, to be honest. But that doesn’t mean she’s in any rush to meet Darcy again, and refresh the embarrassment of everything that had happened between them. She offers Gigi a brief smile because Gigi is, after all, just trying to protect a sibling, and Lizzie knows that instinct well.

“You have to understand that we’re not—he and I can’t—it’s complicated.” Across the desk, Gigi starts to say something, but Lizzie holds up a hand. “It’s not like we can just forget everything and be friends, you know? I—I think I hurt your brother a lot with some of the things I said to him, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t _mean_ them.”

She pauses, chewing her lip as she tries to sort through the mental file that is _William Darcy_ for a way of explaining what she means without putting her foot in it. “I will concede that I don’t know Darcy, but you should probably concede that throwing us in a room together and locking the door isn’t the best way to make that happen.”

“I didn’t lock the door—“ Gigi says, then stops and sighs. “But I guess I can see what you mean. I won’t meddle anymore—as long as you at least _try_ to spend some time with William to get to know him better.”

“Gigi—”

“Those are the terms, Lizzie Bennet,” Gigi counters, arms crossed. “It’s either that, or I start locking doors.”

Lizzie raises her eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

She laughs. “It’s up to you, I guess.”

::

With Gigi’s promise still fresh in her mind, she spends the rest of the morning editing and posting the video, trying not to linger over the two minutes of awkward Darcy interaction.

Then she logs out of email and twitter, silences her phone, and focuses all her energies on reviewing the Pemberley Digital Personal Project Agreement and comparing it to other project agreements from media companies. It’s inspiring to see how high Pemberley prioritizes the protection of their creative minds.

Midway through the morning, Dr. Gardiner emails her a lunch request for Saturday, and Lizzie shoots back a ‘yes’ before returning to her project outline.

When she finally stands for a break, there’s an obscene number of replies to her twitter posting of the video, four missed calls and a handful of increasingly annoyed texts from Charlotte, one of which reads, “LIZZIE BENNET HOW DARE YOU.”

::

What Lizzie realizes when she opens Dr. Gardiner’s reply is that “lunch request” actually means “lunch meeting with CEO of Pemberley Digital, William Darcy; dress appropriately”. She spends the rest of the day wondering if Gigi Darcy is truly that capable, or if Lizzie wants an out that badly.

::

She spends Friday night trying not to pace the confines of the place she’s house sitting. There’s this tension in the air, this itch: she knows something has to happen; it’s just a matter of when and it’s driving her crazy.

Instead, she calls Jane, and then Charlotte, and listens to their numerous and varied reactions to her latest video and the news that she’s having lunch with him tomorrow. When she hangs up the phone, she wonders if her life hasn’t turned into something completely beyond her control.

::

Lizzie picks out the severest thing in her wardrobe and tries not to fiddle too excessively. It’s _business_ , after all, and she’s still not quite sure how much Dr. Gardiner knows about her relationship with Darcy.

The directions attached to the meeting request lead her to a fashionable bistro that sits on a street lined with what look to be fascinating shops and galleries. She makes a mental note to explore everything further when she’s not in the middle of a early life crisis.

Inside, the host smiles at her and doesn’t bother to ask if she has a reservation; he immediately leads her through the restaurant and out to a table located on a back patio.

She sees Darcy almost at once; he’s saying something to Dr. Gardiner in a low voice that has her professor laughing and the clench in Lizzie’s gut has nothing to do with his wry grin and everything to do with nerves.

Okay, maybe it has a little to do with his grin, especially when he notices her approach and stands, leaving her—once again—staring at his chin, trying to think of what comes next.

“Lizzie,” he says and she tries not to blush as Dr. Gardiner turns around to greet her as well. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Elizabeth!” Dr. Gardiner holds out a hand to clasp Lizzie’s. “I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place? Mr. Darcy recommended it.”

“No, no trouble at all, actually. This part of the city looks really interesting.” She finds herself stumbling into the chair Darcy’s holding out for her, offering a muttered, “Thanks,” under her breath.

“Dr. Gardiner was just telling me about some of the classes she’s offered,” Darcy says after a moment, smoothing down his tie.

“And how you’ve taken every single one of them,” Dr. Gardiner adds, still laughing. She adjusts a few of the bangles on her wrist that have ridden up her arm, and Lizzie feels hypnotized by the motion.

“Well, they seemed the most relevant to my interests.” Lizzie pauses, weighing the silence before adding, “And Dr. Gardiner does seem to take a strange delight in destroying my GPA.”

Dr. Gardiner’s laugh nearly swallows up Darcy’s restrained chuckle, but it’s _there_ and Lizzie feels herself relax slightly.

They talk about the city, and postgraduate education (because it’s basically a requirement, given he’s a Darcy), and by the time their entrees have arrived, Lizzie almost feels comfortable. It’s obvious that Darcy is trying; he’s open in a way Lizzie hasn’t seen since, well, _that one time_ , and yet he’s nothing like _that_ version of him.

It makes her feel strangely weak-kneed to see him be nearly charming and so droll. If not for the miles of bad blood behind them—which she’s still painfully aware of, thank you very much—Lizzie’s pretty certain that she could be interested in this man; this warmer, gentler Darcy.

The realization irks Lizzie, and as she listens to the conversation drift over to future endeavors for Pemberley Digital, she’s eager to see Darcy regress, become the ogre she remembers from Netherfield. It’s irrational—Lizzie knows it is—but she’s not exactly feeling rational right now, what with Darcys falling out of the sky at every step.

“I firmly believe in the importance of the fourth wall in any future media opportunities,” Darcy’s saying, and Lizzie launches.

“Isn’t the future of media a collective?” she asks, attention focused unwaveringly on Darcy. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Dr. Gardiner’s eyebrows jump, but she merely sips at her drink and says nothing.

“A—a collective?” Darcy repeats. His forehead furrows. “Absolutely there’s a time and a place for—for ‘collective’-type work, as it may be called, but there’s certainly no evidence that it will maintain itself—”

Lizzie flattens her hands on the table, frowning. “The history of media has long been moving towards a more interactive means; the introduction of Twitter alone has revolutionized how individuals can interact with their media. It’s foolish to say that there’s no evidence—”

“It’s short-sighted to say that the presence of _Twitter_ has revolutionized anything when it’s been around for less than a decade. The reality is that the medium of _storytelling_ has been around for millennia; it’s unlikely to change dramatically in the next hundred years of media development.”

Dr. Gardiner clears her throat, a gesture parting them. “While you make a strong point, Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy’s observations about storytelling haven proven true: the fourth wall has withstood the rise and fall of civilizations. Perhaps, however, it could be agreed that there’s a new facet of storytelling unfolding with the introduction of interactive media that challenges the presence of the fourth wall without doing away with it entirely?”

It’s probably bad form to argue with the professor who could forestall her graduation, so Lizzie nods, glancing at Darcy to see his reaction. She finds him watching her evenly, attention unwavering, what could be the hints of a smile on his face.

And the strangest part is that she can’t help but smile back.

::

Somehow, she ends up rewatching all her video blogs that night, cringing at the first few because she and Charlotte were still figuring out how to make it work, and then cringing at the next chunk for...other reasons.

At episode 59, it hits her that this is probably a mistake and she closes out her browser window and goes to bed.

She doesn’t fall asleep for hours.

When she wakes up, she gathers all the gear she’ll need to film Monday’s video and makes the trek to Pemberley Digital. It’s a Sunday, so it should be deserted and quiet, and she can attempt to get her thoughts down without any interruption.

She struggles with how to introduce this damn plot point. Apparently, she has no idea how to bridge the gap between disliking and/or being indifferent towards William Darcy and acknowledging that he’s...not entirely a hipster snob.

But halfway through her third (or fourth) attempt, there’s a knock on the door and Gigi Darcy pokes her head in. “Lizzie! Good; I thought you might be here. Listen—”

And she perches next to Lizzie with a wide smile. “I heard you had lunch with William yesterday; how did it go?”

Lizzie casts a glance at the camera, which is still filming, and turns back to Gigi. “It went fine? I guess?”

Gigi throws a distracted wave at the camera, attention still firmly fixed on Lizzie. “‘Fine’? Define ‘fine’. I know not throwing cutlery at him might qualify as fine for you.”

“We...talked? And, okay, we might have had a disagreement about the future of media-based storytelling, but...”

“But?” Gigi is leaning forward, hands on her knees, staring at Lizzie in a way that feels like she’s being interrogated without words. “But you enjoyed arguing with him! You did! Didn’t you, Lizzie?”

“Ah—” Lizzie starts, then stutters, then stops.

“And let me ask you this, Lizzie Bennet: did you not say that you want an intelligent man with whom you can have a lively debate?“

“Um—”

“This is a sign.” Gigi grins, and her look is completely triumphant.

“Are you—are you quoting my own diaries at me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s evil.”

Gigi’s shrug is playful. “Maybe. But then again: you did post it on the internet for _anyone_ to find.”

“True, but I didn’t think it was going to be found by William Darcy’s younger sister and used against me in such a fashion.”

For a long, lingering moment, there is an awkward pause that steals through the room. Lizzie can feel the entire atmosphere shift and she cringes.

“Not to be rude, but—” Gigi pauses, considering, before pressing on in a rush. “I don’t think you were planning on any of it being found by any of us, were you?”

Lizzie starts to reply, and then thinks better of it. Because it’s _true_ , what Gigi’s saying: at the time she recorded her videos, she hadn’t considered how her biases and prejudices could grow. It's yet another thing that makes her cringe every time she sees Darcy. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she finally manages, and even that sounds too small, too late. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

Gigi is silent for a moment, and then nods. “I didn’t think you did; I just wanted you to consider it. Because some people deserve second chances.” She offers Lizzie a small, tremulous smile and it hits her all over again that Gigi’s someone’s little sister, and she just wants her brother to be happy.

It makes her miss Lydia terribly.

“Thank you,” Lizzie says instead. “It means a lot.” Gigi nods again, waves at the camera and leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.

Lizzie turns to the camera, still steadily recording everything, and tries to smile. It comes out a bit crooked and wrong, but then so does a lot of things lately. “I guess—I guess I have a lot to think about, huh?”

::

Monday morning feels too easy. She comes into work and is greeted by a few of the creative team with an invitation for morning coffee. Then she uploads her video, which is basically untouched and wonders how Charlotte’s going to respond to this one.

So, somehow, she isn’t surprised to find an email from Darcy in her inbox with the subject line “Regarding Saturday’s Luncheon”. For approximately 2 minutes, Lizzie’s convinced that it’s going to be a politely worded ‘GET OUT’ note and she considers how easy it would be to escape the building without being seen by anyone.

But then she opens it, and it’s a thank you for her presence at lunch, and a request to discuss in further detail her ideas concerning the interplay between audience and presenter. It’s signed “William” and she wonders if that means something.

::

Two weeks later, and Lizzie has an additional four videos. They discuss some of the things Pemberley Digital is working on, along with various mentions of lunches with Gigi and Fitz, and there’s even one dedicated to Lizzie’s attempts at walking the city. She talks about missing Lydia and how she doesn’t know what to do, and she talks about Jane and Charlotte and what it means, being an adult.

If William Darcy is mentioned, it’s rarely, and only when brought up by Gigi or Fitz, or when discussing Pemberley Digital’s current projects.

Perhaps the numbers go down a bit, and Lizzie has more than one enraged message from viewers channeling Lydia, demanding “moar deets on that mancake darcy!!!1!” but she doesn’t know what to say.

She doesn’t know how to talk about the lunches with him, how she watches Gigi tease him and how he laughs like he’s surprised by the sound. She doesn’t know how to talk about the space between them and how she’s more aware of it than ever. How he keeps looking at her like she’s about to destroy him again. How impossible everything is.

She doesn’t know how to tell them that she might be falling in—

But nevermind that.

::

It’s a Wednesday. She remembers this because she’s trying to figure out what to say in her Thursday video, and she’s laughing at a text from Fitz when her phone rings. It’s Jane and immediately, Lizzie feels her stomach drop.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie? Is that you?” Jane’s voice is low, soft.

“Yeah; what’s going on?”

“Lizzie, it’s Lydia. Have you—have you been watching her videos?”

“Not really; no. Jane—what’s going on?”

“Oh, Lizzie,” and there’s a terrible pause that never seems to end. “Lizzie, you need to come home. Right now.”

There’s nothing she can do but listen as Jane outlines everything that’s happened to Lydia; the frantic 4AM phone call from a payphone in Vegas, followed by another an hour later. The drive to Vegas and the attempts to find her. The waiting, and the worry.

She tells Jane she’ll be home as soon as she can. The moment she’s hung up the phone, she’s struggling to breathe because this is _Lydia_. This is her baby sister, the one so full of energy and joy and slyness.

And she realizes this is all her fault, and it hurts.

A moment later, there’s a knock at the door and Lizzie is struggling to wipe her eyes and stand, trying to find someway to explain why she’s sobbing in the middle of the morning. The door opens, Darcy emerging around the jamb.

“Lizzie? I was just wondering if you were available for—Lizzie? What’s wrong?”

He’s at her side in an instant, a hand at her shoulder.

“It’s Lydia. She was in Vegas and Wickham—I just—I don’t know. I need to go; I need to be at home. I can’t—”

“Of course,” he says, and his voice is somber, deep. “Of course. There will be a car waiting for you at the door; it will take you where you need to go.”

He helps her to stand; for a heartbeat, everything seems to fall into place. His hand at her elbow, the set of his jaw—they fix in her memory and she is able to inhale.

“Thank you,” she finally managers, and he blinks, once, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Will you—will you apologize to Gigi for me?”

“Yes, of course. But you should be going. Be safe. Good bye.” He releases her as abruptly as he’d appeared. When the door closes behind him, she wants to throw it open again and bring him back.

But the knowledge that this is her doing; that she caused this—it keeps her steady as she gathers together her things and heads for the door.

::

The car takes her home.

And it hits her when she slides out into the fading sunlight: this is an ending, this is a close. There’s no going back; everything he ever said about her family has come true. 

Everything is lost.


End file.
